Empire
by Rihaku
Summary: [K x L] [A x C] A Dreamer, a Songstress, a Princess, a Lord.
1. At the Beginning

Hey, Rihaku here. This is the start of my new story, Empire, which I will be writing in conjunction with Inferno. I'll try to bounce evenly between the two as inspiration strikes me, but expect long stretches of me working first on one story, then the other - inspiration may stay for a week or a day.

**Genres: Action/Adventure/Romance **(I'm so original, I know)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Seed or Gundam Seed Destiny. **

**Pairings: K x L, A x C, later Shinn x Stellar **

**Setting: Historic Imperial. The "Eastern" Lands are a mix of China and Japan. The "Western" Kingdoms represent High Middle Ages Europe. **

**Warnings: Violence, touching, innuendo, somewhat OOC Kira, kinda OOC Lacus, pretty OOC Athrun and really (or, depending on your point of view, not-at-all) OOC Cagalli. **Everyone still retains the core of their personalities, unlike Inferno; I just adjusted them for plot and setting purposes. Please review after you're done! Reviews help me keep my inspiration up. As you may have guessed, one can find the end of this story in my profile: it was uploaded 12-13-06. If you're awesome, review that one as well.

A/N: This story has a much different 'feel' to it than Inferno. Descriptions are a bit longer; I'm aiming for a more poetic, sensorial mood than the brutal realism of Inferno. Final version.

* * *

"_May I come in?" He peeked from the bushes, and leaves stirred as they were rustled to the ground. Around, birdsong twittered. She was resting on a bench which had grown from the interlaced vines of the trees. Her legs were crossed, barely visible through the diaphanous lavender silk of her dress. In the breeze, blossoms drifted idly. She raised a flawless hand to pop a grape into her mouth. _

"_You are always welcome here, Kira." She patted the spot next to her, on the curling wood. _

_Roses had sprouted at the edges of her bench. He maneuvered carefully through them, wary of thorns. She leaned back and stretched, muffled a yawn. "I'll have to start soon."_

_He nodded. "I know." _

_She smiled at him. The ornament in her hair flashed in the sun. "Would you like a grape?" _

_Her fingers plucked one from the vine on her lap, proffered it to him. He shook his head. "The food here doesn't fill me up." _

_She was insistent. "Still, the taste is fun. Try one, they're sweet." _

_The grape pressed cool against his chin. He dodged aside, deftly avoiding her attempts to feed him. She pouted cutely. "Oh, come on!" _

_Mutely he shook his head, containing a grin. She flounced around so that she was staring straight ahead; the grape disappeared into her mouth. Catching his gaze on the corner of her eye, she munched contentedly, then made an exaggerated swallowing motion. "Mmhm… You don't know what you're missing, Kira." _

_There was no response. He was looking very intently at her face._

"_I think I do…" _

_She blushed and they averted their respective gazes. For a while the blossoms fell in peace. _

_He leaned back and surveyed the trees. "It's so tranquil here. I wish I could stay." _

_She craned her neck to stare at his face. "So why don't you come, for real this time?" _

_Wind rushed through the clearing and her braids swished around. "I'm not very far away, Kira. I know you can make it." _

_He sighed. "I don't understand why you can't just tell me where you are." _

"_If I could come to you I would, but…"_

"_I know." His gaze meandered across the wilds to settle upon the tree roots which thrust up from the earth, forever entangled in gnarled, serpentine coils. _

_Whenever he did that he would get moody. She tried a different tack. "How is your work?" _

_He smirked. "I don't know why you insist on calling it that. Apprentices aren't allowed to do any of the jobs. We just sit there and listen to Master Zao ramble on about philosophy." _

_Her fingers ran down the smooth edges of their seat. "Is _that_ the droning noise I keep hearing?" Then, serious: "Kira, I told you not to come here during class!" _

_He gazed vapidly at her. "I'm not. Right now I'm lying down in a meadow, behind some hedges. We had today off; it was a holiday." _

_She sighed. "As much as I enjoy your company, Kira, you really should take some time for yourself. What are you going to do, after you become a Master?" _

"_I _am _taking time for myself, Lacus. It's not as if this is a chore." And then, looking puzzled: "And what do you mean, 'do' after I become Master? I'll do what all Masters do: absolutely nothing." _

_She laughed, grabbing his bicep and leaning her head against his shoulder. "You're so mean. Master Zao is a profound man." _

_Her hair blew around them, whisper-pink, and softly tickled the skin of his neck. _

_Ruminating on the warmness of her hands through the (really very thin) cloth of his shirt, he answered slowly. "You know, you're right. He is profoundly lazy." _

_She arched an eyebrow in a rare moment of cattishness, though her eyes were smiling. "And you're not?" _

"_Obviously I am. Talent recognizes talent. How did you think I got in the academy for free? I'll have you know that most of the students are successful merchant's second sons or heirs to nobility. Slacking off is a respected profession among the aristocracy – they practice it every day, so it's good to have experts on the subject.'"_

_He had calmed down now, and she hugged herself onto his shoulder and exhaled happily. "I'm glad you're here to keep me company. For a long time, it was just me and the birds." _

_Embarrassed, he sat blandly on the bench, gaping at her closed eyes and small smile. Then, summoning his courage, he laid his head on hers, let the world slip away. "One day I will find you. Just…not…today- urgh!" _

_She had bolted upright, jarring their two heads together. Letting out a startled squeak, she bounced away. "Sorry!" _

_He rubbed his temple. "It's alright. That ornament of yours is really hard, though." _

_She traced her palm over his, bringing his hand down, then stepped on her tiptoes, examining the bruise. "Oh, I really don't know how to deal with these…they don't really happen here…"_

_He gently waved her off. "It's nothing, Lacus. But why did you get up so sudden-"_

"_Oh! That's right, I've got to start! Sorry Kira, I don't think you'll be allowed to stay…" _

"_Already? I've still got hours to waste!" _

_She bent down, plucked a rose from beneath the bench, and brought it to her nose. Inhaling deeply, she held the breath for a silent moment before releasing it. A frown furrowed her brow. _

_The rose unfolded, revealing a lexicon of images on its inside petals. She pursed her lips, then looked uncomfortable. When she met his eyes he saw her concern. _

"_You'd better go. This song doesn't look like it'll be pleasant." _

_He nodded slowly, closed his eyes. _

---

Field Marshall Athrun Zala, Captain of the Elite Guard, Lord of Skye's Lagoon, Marquis of Blackfields, Commander of the Western Front and Crown Prince of the Five Lands muttered testily to himself.

"Unbelievable. Three raids in the past week and they haven't suffered a single loss."

The sky above was cold-steel blue, a resonant cloudless shade sharper than his blade's edge. The air was filled with an endless clopping of hooves against earth as, around him, the Company rode in scattered ranks. Landscape peeled away, tree-swarmed mountains and lush grasses passing by to the jumping cadence of his horse's gallop. Whinnying, the beast threw its massive black stallion head up, foam flicking off the sides of its jaws and one brightly intelligent eye cocked at his. He pulled on the reins, and they cantered to a halt, the charger's luxuriant mane quivering as it slowed. The Company formed a rough semicircle flanking him and dismounted as one. He leapt off the saddle, helm held in the crook of an elbow and shield strapped securely across his back. Their ghoulish mask-helmets regarded him, silently attentive.

His sword held a naked blade of emerald green that sighed through the air as he jumped. When the sun shined it flashed deadlier than his gaze. He let the helmet go, felt their eyes follow it as it clattered against the earth. Deliberately, he stared at it until it went still.

"Now!"

His voice pierced the stillness like a javelin. They snapped to attention as he stalked among their ranks, a tiger through tall grasses. Athrun spoke with a nobleman's articulation - enunciation expertly timed, words sharp and clear and packed with force.

"What we are about to do is the essence of evil. Remember that. You will not enjoy this because enjoyment brings contentment and contentment brings dullness and dullness is death. You shall hate what you have been made to do and you shall hate yourself for doing it but _most of all_ you shall hate your enemy for forcing your actions upon you." He turned, catching their eyes behind visor-slits.

"And you shall temper yourself in hatred, let it fuel your strength, and when next we engage an enemy you shall loose that fury and _destroy _them. But you will not enjoy it. Duty is not ours to enjoy." Very rarely he raised his voice. They stood statue-rigid as he paced, examining their gear.

"We will proceed as the Training Marshall ordered, and flank the target on two sides. A stream runs through the town – try to force them back to the waters in order to expedite cleanup. When we are finished I will give the signal and you shall light the torches. This is not a capture mission: we're in too deep for wagons to escape pursuit. Destroy the granaries and only take small items of high value."

Athrun frowned.

"Tighten your sword." He bent down and motioned to one figure's scabbard, tied with a loose-hanging strip of leather. The warrior silently complied.

He crossed back to the horse, kicked his helmet into the air and caught it before swinging onto the saddle. His charger snorted and tossed its head, eager to be on the move. When he spoke again his eyes were on the horizon, barely a whisper that carried to their ears. "War is cruelty and you cannot refine it. Leave no one."

Their semicircle disintegrated as the Company mounted, wheeling in a wide arc around him before plunging west, the wind singing through their eyeslits. He released a long breath, wiped his brow with a cloth, and followed. They parted to let him through, and within seconds his pitch-black stallion was again urged to the front. Trees parted and mountains dropped away into the distance, leaving only huge expanses of grass and meadow. Hooves bit deep into loamier soil, gouging out great divots of earth. They sighted the town.

It was small, a border village, and would hardly have been of notice if it had not been housing the raiders. The homes were creaky wood and whitewash; thatch was their ceiling and dense-packed earth their floor. Crooked dead trees, limbs like arthritic fingers, reached for the sky. The streets were undefended and he could hear the clear ringing of a blacksmith's forge, hammering out scythes and spades. A cool, quick-flowing stream coursed down the meadows, and there were tiny figures reaching nets into the water, backs bent horizontal to catch silvery, darting fish. He narrowed it eyes.

It was beautiful.

Squeaking wheels came rumbling down the street and the Company formed ranks to block the wagon's passage. Its driver, an elderly man with faint white whips of beard, grumbled to himself, then raised his eyes to stare at them. His mouth gaped open, shut like a trap, and then he turned deathly pale.

"Ai-ya!" Screaming to his horses he flailed at the reins, turning clumsily around and throwing up a screen of dust. Athrun placed one gauntleted hand in front of his mouth to keep from coughing, then gestured with two fingers.

The cart was stumbling away from them, barrels of produce tumbling off its end and careening towards them. There was a whistle of wind and then the wagon stopped, its driver slumping over with a burst of white features protruding from his head. Athrun stepped off the saddle and stopped the barrels with the flat of his blade, then kicked them off to the sides of the road.

"They probably heard that. Let's go." In one seamless motion he pulled his shield from its straps and mounted. His blade pointed like a compass at the village and he _hya'd _the horse on.

"Zala." He said it thickly, resigned, as if it were an ill taste in the mouth.

"Zala!" They chorused, blades sliding from scabbards. As they thromped towards the village their scabbards beat hollowly against the sides of their armor, a chaos of war drums.

The fishers were first to spot them. One had turned at the noise, and was just about to issue a cry when an arrow _zing_ed past Athrun's arm and pierced the man through his throat. He gagged, fountaining blood, landed limply in the stream. The fishes burst and swarmed around the corpse, dodging aside the blood-rich waters. Other fisherman, staring at their comrade, began sprinting towards the town, hands wildly fanning the air. Two more arrows flew from the back, dropping the forerunners. As Athrun reached the slowest one he dipped down and slew the man in one fluid stroke, his horse never breaking stride.

The remaining sprinters split into anarchy: some attempted to defend themselves, others sprang for the woods. A man wielding a fishing pole jabbed it at his black stallion's eye, and the massive horse bucked its head to the side and lashed out with its front legs, snapping the bamboo stick in half. Athrun let go of the reins and slid halfway off the horse, decapitating the man before stopping his own descent with a hand. Hoisting himself back up, he leapt over the falling cadaver. His troops caught up and rode down the survivors.

The furious clanging of warning bells resounded in the town and they charged into the dirt-path roads, pounding full gallop through narrow alleys and end-ways, pursuing their human prey.

Two hastily armed militia accosted him and he leapt from the saddle, shield bashing away their feeble blows before he rose in an elegant turn that eviscerated both at once. They crumpled and he shouldered his way past, dismissing his steed with a whistle. It snorted heavily, pawing the ground before cantering out of town, reins flapping loose around its face.

Athrun bulled his way into a mass of people, slashing deep, blade humming as it parted air. Blood flew in crimson arcs over his head and he kicked in a man's knee, then buried his blade to the hilt through his another's spine. The resister choked, blood spilling in clots from his mouth, and Athrun savagely retracted the blade, a look of disgust on his face as he tore into the scattering crowd.

He took off after a running woman with flowing purple locks, his boots stomping the ground with leaden speed. She screamed, cast a glance over her shoulder, gasping with exertion as she ran. Effortlessly he outpaced her, slicing cleanly through her collarbone. She turned, tears shining in her eyes, and pleaded with him. "Please, no, my son, please spare-"

Her voice faded to a wet gurgling as he split her jugular. Arrows streaked past him and into a house, and men staggered out, clutching shafts stuck deep in their shoulders. Another swept in from the other side, falling to his knees at the sight of the woman.

"Caridad!" He rushed Athrun with a frenzied shriek, lifting a blunted a rusty blade. Faced with two threats, Athrun lunged towards the arrow-ridden mob, launching his shield backwards. A vicious crunch sounded the man's death as twenty pounds of wood over steel smashed his Adam's apple. Like a viper Athrun struck, serpanthued edge snicking smoothly through tendon and bone. Around, the last of his enemies spun and fell. He lit a gunpowder flare and threw it into the sky; there was a resounding roar and the world dissolved into a mess of sound and fire and gore.

When it was over he heard his breath, panting through his sweat-soaked nose and blowing the untidy mass of blue hair which hung over his eyes. He removed the helmet - he had put it on to dampen the screams - and stared at its bloody eyeholes and tiny airslits choked with crimson. Rain was falling over the ruins, dribbling down the sides of his plate-encrusted shoulders, mixing with the sweat on his neck and the blood on his greaves to form rivers of pinkish, merging with the stream now muddied with soot and blood. The water flowed sluggishly, too heavy to run. As raindrops _ting_ed off the steel of his shield the Company recovered.

Some vomited, hands on thighs and backs heaving like a hump. Others stared listlessly at the distance or the sky. A few were shivering, prying at the red caked on their hands, and a very few were openly sobbing into bloodied fists. Athrun strode among them, clapped one on the back.

"Tomorrow, you will graduate from the Academy and…join the ranks of the Elite Guard. Congratulations." He spat the words, tone bitter. Then, consolingly:

"You did not enjoy that. Good. Now, status reports."

A boy with straight black hair looked up at him. "Sir, we're not quite done reflecting-"

Athrun whirled on the teen, the intensity of his glare like a fire-poker. "Corporal Yu, do you think that your opponent, having seen you slaughter his family, will give you time to reflect?"

"W-well, no, sir-"

"Do you think that reflecting on what you have done will in any way mitigate its effects?"

"N-no, sir…"

"Is the Elite Guard a corps of philosophers?" Athrun's voice, which had been steadily diminishing, was a jagged, sibilant hiss.

"No, sir." The response was muted, defeated.

He reared up, surveying the troops. _By Heaven I hate this job. _

"Company up! Attention!" With ingrained speed they responded. Fourteen, fifteen, their boyish faces, dead and denuded, focused on him. He swallowed the bile in his throat, barked a command which rang through the hills.

"Now, _status_ reports!"

"Lieutenant-in-training Hashou Sheng, Vice-commanding officer, sir! We encountered a group of apprentice calligraphists, led by a portly master named 'Zao,' in one of our hill-sweeps. No…"

Sheng, who sported extensive helmet hair and a persistent cowlick in back, gulped, blue eyes unseeing.

"No students survived."

"And the Master?" Athrun was gentle but persistent.

"We…killed him too." Sheng fought to maintain composure, shoulders trembling.

"Alright, Lieutenant-graduate. At ease."

The boy exhaled and crumbled, eyes lolling to the back of his head. Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms, supporting him wearily.

Athrun turned to the next child.

_I am a step closer, Mother._

---

"The Athha Border Lands, were, after much consideration and debate, assimilated into our Empire. This would be the fourth assumption of a throne under Zala…"

Cagalli Yula Athha snorted. If "consideration and debate" involved treason, crop sabotage, timely invasions and "generously" force-fed treaties, Yoohseis' sanitized history lesson might have some credibility. As it stood, the sessile old Education Minister's lecture was about as effective her father's criticism of her manners – that was, not. She traced a bleary eye to the sundial which stood in the open-air courtyard to their left, then perked up.

Six years of dial-gazing had honed her eye to hawklike precision and with a disdainful sniff she stood, walking out of the classroom. Her myopic tutor rambled on for a few seconds more before he realized that his only student had departed. Too attached to his desk to move, Yoohseis called shrilly after her.

"Young lady! What are you doing? Get back here this instant!"

She yawned, relishing the warmth of outside, the wind blowing through her orange-yellow sundress. "I just did my time, Yoohseis. We must be punctual, right?"

He looked vaguely stunned – not a major departure from his usual face – and slowly nooded. "Very well then. Go frolic and play, as your ilk are oft to do."

Cagalli sighed. He hadn't quite gotten it out of his head that she wasn't twelve anymore. Perhaps that was for the best – if he remembered her true age he might try to take advantage of her, the lecherous old buffoon. His brain was deteriorated enough to consider it. He probably thought that all those teachers were servicing him _willingly_.

Ugck. The Sun Princess clutched at her sleeves, dispelling those images from her mind. Quickly she strode across the courtyard, anxious to be as far away from that particular relic as possible.

The Zala Imperial Palace, seat of an empire that spanned ten thousand _li_, rose across the terrain with mountainous sovereignty, a million-pace-wide and twenty-story-high fortress of gray and red and gold that dominated the land and commanded its own wardrobe of mists. Stepped with enough boulevards, courtyards, treasuries, brothels, libraries, quarters, barracks, and armories to function as a small nation, it housed two hundred legions of stock infantry, seventy-five archer battalions, fifty thousand cavalry, and all five Companies of the Empire's shock troops, the Elite Guard. Cagalli had enough gold at her fingertips to gild every inch of her body, enough silk to clothe a city. She was waited on by six dozen handmaidens and "protected" by a small army of spearmen. She possessed absolutely zero (0) freedom.

Lucky, lucky, Cagalli, traded in as a royal ransom to ensure Athha's complicity (and survival) in Zala's conspiracy. She was the third-generation Sun Princess, virtually worshipped by the Border Lands and about as useful to her people as a peacock in a cage of gold.

"Amaterasu-sama." Two handmaidens bowed as she passed them. She rolled her eyes. Where to go, now that she was free from that historical sponge's clutches? None of the other governor's children were interesting – Joule was a bastard, Seiran a worm, Zala an icicle and Sahaku a germ – and she wasn't allowed to consort informally with anyone under her rank. The Grand Theatre had played last night; they wouldn't be holding a play for another whole week.

She didn't dislike the Theatre: the artists were clever, some were from Athha, and rarely they managed to sneak a few veiled references to true history beneath the censers' noses. Aisha, the producer, had taught Cagalli much of what she knew.

Absently she strolled into a drawing room which contained a rosewood tea table and cupboard. A figure dressed in a white mandarin frock-coat slowly revolved to glance at her. His hair hung low down his back and his pale lips were curled into a smile.

"Amaterasu-sama." She was never sure if Gilbertus Durandal's reverential tone was sincere or sarcastic. The Prime Minister seemed to be a decent man - he worked relentlessly to better the conditions of the populace and always projected an aura of reason - but Cagalli had never felt comfortable around him. He was constantly weighing options, slowly calculating, the gears in his head ponderous but massive.

"Prime Minister. Why are you here?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Direct as always, Amaterasu-sama. Allow me to explain…" He trailed off, gazing at a sunbeam which had come through the window.

"Well?" Cagalli tapped the edge of her golden slipper against the ground. "You're wasting my 'free' time, Prime Minister."

He cocked an amused eyebrow at her, then drew himself up to his full height, a bone-thin, bone-paled tower of presence. "The Emperor has granted you a great boon."

"I'm to be allowed forty-two live pigs slaughtered every day instead of forty? My deepest apologies, but I think I glut myself enough on the _Emperor_'s generosity."

He laughed heartily, marble-sculpture chest shaking up and down. "You have a way with words, Amaterasu-sama. No; unfortunately this has nothing to do with your diet. The Emperor," Durandal's eyes turned harder than amber. "Has graciously granted your father's request for a-"

"-betrothal between myself and Athrun Zala. Great. I get to sit on a throne next to the iceblock for the rest of my life. Do I get a coat or scarf to complement my closet of sundresses?"

"Your intuition and insight amaze me, Amaterasu-sama. I was not, however, finished. Yes, you are to be married to the Crown Prince. However, since the escalation of our war with the Western Devils, we have decided to…fortify the spirit of the people with a bold statement of purpose. You will travel to the very edge of our territories and meet with the Prince, displaying our utter contempt for the enemy's prowess. After forty days we shall throw a lavish celebration on virgin soil and you two will be as one." Durandal raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"They say, Amaterasu-sama, that fire and ice together make the very fluid of our lives." With that parting shot Durandal strode away.

Cagalli blushed furiously. What was that? The Prime Minister had never had the impertinence to address her so gracelessly. Was he finally unveiling his true colors, now that she was to be shipped off? Or were his remarks a subtle reminder that her father had probably spent a lot of his political capital leveraging the marriage deal, and that he was now owed nothing at court?

She felt a tingling fear rise in her gut – Zala was straitjacketed enough by honor to refrain from killing her father, whom he loathed, so long as Uzumi Nara Athha held a blood-debt on him. But now the bloodthirsty Emperor would have no compunctions against taking the life of the longest thorn in his side.

And the Athha lands, 'unified' under a Zala heir, would be completely under the Empire's thumb.

Perhaps she could assassinate Athrun in bed? No, that wouldn't feel right. Athrun's issues weren't his fault: they had been thrust on him by his father, the Emperor.

His childhood had been marred by a stifling, constant pressure to perform. He had been a generous boy with expressive eyes, always melancholic and reading or doing finger-painting.

After his mother died two years ago, he drew within himself, forming a fierce rivalry with Joule and developing a ruthless intensity that sometimes scared even Cagalli. Besides, killing the Zala heir would definitely drive the aging Emperor off his rocker – and the country didn't need that in the middle of a war. Feeling oddly magnanimous (perhaps delayed jubilation at finally being allowed to leave the palace?), she even conceded that Zala wasn't all that bad-looking.

It could have been worse. But not, Cagalli insisted, by much.

* * *

If you review you will be cool. If you're already cool, you'll review. Please give me feedback - on my first story no one reviewed the first chapter and chapter length suffered because I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to write. I don't intend on ever ransoming my stories for reviews; it's just easier to write with them than without. Just a tiny bit of writing on your part equals hundreds of words on mine, I promise. Constructive criticism is the most appreciated. Thanks to kuronazox, the only reviewer of Song. 

A/N: Athrun's "War is cruelty...refine it." quote is originally from William Tecumesah Sherman. The next chapter will be out soon.


	2. Two Crossings

Rihaku here. This chapter's got some pretty gruesome details, so if you don't like that stuff, skip the middle three paragraphs of Kira's part.

This chapter starts out a bit slow, but picks up speed at the end. Enjoy!

Final version.

* * *

_All her life, she had sung. They had dictated that it be so, and she had always complied. There was nothing in it of will or choice – she sang as inevitably as water falls. She did not understand the song and had never tried; like an instrument finely tuned she firmly channeled the music, neither unleashing a torrent nor damming the flow. _

_For six eternities that had been the way. She was humanity's companion, its muse and its curse. From her throat sprang tales of terrible beauty or beautiful cruelty. They were at once aware and unaware of her; like breathing, she never consumed conscious thought but was constantly resounding at the backs of their minds. _

_Only one had ever seen her face. He was new: she had not seen him in any of the times before. When they met he had been confused, but he picked things up with amazing speed. She did not know humans very well, and he was the only she had ever met, but she found herself wishing that if she were ever to encounter more of mankind, she would want to meet more people like him. He was kind, _truly_ kind, and she was merely nice, like a porcelain doll with a painted-on smile that laughed, because it did not know of crying. _

_From her seat of roses she could see the entire world, but that was the difference between viewing a picture and living a truth. Only when Kira had come, with his quiet awkwardness and shying eyes and strange else of humor, had she understood what it meant to be human. _

_She didn't think she'd make a very good one. Until now. _

_This song had been different from the others. As far back as her first melody she had enjoyed singing, even dirges and elegies and requiems. They were melancholy but the music was so perfect she could not help but be subsumed in it. Like all good artists she never played the music; it played her. _

_This one she had not enjoyed. It had been like knives and daggers in her throat, sharp and cold and hurtful. Her heart had felt gnashed, torn open and bleeding onto the green, even though she was obviously unharmed. The worst had been when she found that she could not stop. Truly, she was a slave to her art – if she closed her mouth the words ripped themselves from her throat and sent slashing cacophony into the world. The pain had been constant and grinding and endless and when the last words had fled her lips she had folded onto the grasses and sobbed. _

_And then she thought of many things which she had not considered before, and realized that she was even more clueless than the humans, more impotent than the smallest child. Her iron-grated gardens were a prison far more profound than the mightiest imperial fortress._

_But none of that was important, for she had a dread feeling in her breast about Kira, and she could not stop thinking that his life was to be ruined and that it was all her fault. _

---

Kira slogged his way through the deep forest, pushing a bramble out of his face. The trees were waving with a slight breeze and the rain that had fallen while he had made his way out of the meadow was already abating. His flimsy apprentice's garments were dirt-smeared and tattered from his recent expedition – he would have to do surreptitious laundry, again. Last time Master Zao had almost caught him and only his accidental stumble into the water barrel had prevented detection.

The trees began to shake. Kira darted to the side, hiding behind a trunk, eyes peered for Athha Rangers hunting in the wilds. Then he saw the branches swaying towards him, and a chittering horde of squirrels blew through and past him, in a made panic. Confused, he brushed a few of the creatures aside and, ignoring the leaves cascading on his head, continued moving towards the town.

Then the rats came, a pulsing tide of sleek fur and whiplike tails that brushed against his pants. He yelped, jumped into the air and landed on one, wincing as its skeleton shattered under his boot. Swiftly he bent down and scooped up the carcass, setting it gently on a tree before wading through the diminishing swarm. And, suddenly, with a swishing flick the last rat was gone and the leaves echoed with the pattering of feet.

He frowned – there weren't any magicians nearby. A swarm of rodents, thus, only had one reasonable explanation: fire in human habitations. Sweat broke cold against his brow and he braced against a tree, launched himself into a sprint towards the town. It was at least a thousand paces away,but he had always possessed strong legs.

Clearing a small crest, he skidded, almost slipped, in a puddle of mud, and, throwing out a hand for balance, averted a fall. Trees flashed by with the trembling of leaves and he sighted desultory columns of smoke rising with funeral deliberation. Circling them with hawking avarice were a murder of crows.

The scavengers flapped bristly wings with a tarplike sound, eyes firmly affixed below. Kira sped up, almost to the academy…

Before he reached the scene the smell of massacre assailed his nostrils. He gagged, hacking off a few coughs and grabbing a branch to slow his momentum. The smell of rainwater was blended with fire and gore and he stumbled into the hills in a daze.

Most of the bodies had been left where they were slain, blood washed away to leave only lacerated, colorless flesh. Hair hung in wet mops down their backs and their arms were outflung, as if in mad retreat. To the right, Master Zao's eyes stared unseeingly at him, and he tore his eyes away from the face only to meet the meter-long gash in the man's gut. Their academy and quarters were burned to the ground, charred skeletons of wood lonely and steaming.

The last streamers of smoke dissolved away and his legs moved of their own volition, carrying him away. Vellum wall scrolls and codices were strewn around the hill, their bindings slashed and the rich black ink ruined by water. They had destroyed or taken all the pens and inkstands. The written word, crafted well, was more than worth its weight in silver.

The outskirts of the town proper were relatively clean, though the stream held a pink tinge. Buildings here had collapsed inward, walls painted with burn-marks, but the dead were relatively few. As he moved closer to the square the destruction multiplied. A man, mouth hanging open, was slumped against the hollowed frame of a wall, eyes rimmed with red and an arrow sticking from his chest. Two children, decapitated, had twisted grimy fingers around each other in a last act of sympathy. He noted, somewhat detachedly, that they had been twins.

There was a man whose throat had been crushed, his jaw rigidly locked in death. Kira glanced listlessly at him for five minutes before he realized that it was his father. Shivering – his clothes had been plastered to his skin by the rain – he turned his head, saw a woman half-turned-round sprawled on the dirt, purple tresses splayed and blood-splattered.

He blinked.

Staggering forward, he came to the banks of the stream. Here the water moved not at all, clogged by the bodies of the dead. They were stacked six-high, clothing torn and soaked and filthy, fingers and forearms pale. He tasted ash in his mouth as he scanned the razed expanse, and then the bones in his legs disappeared and he fell, palms sore against the hard ground.

His hair was slicked by the rain and it hung low in his eyes; he smeared it out of the way. His reflection in a puddle: eyes sharp yet light blunted, face hollow, breath hissing down into the water and causing ripples.

For a long time he stayed like that, until the wind cut like a knife into his water-chilled bones and the reluctant sun dried out the puddle. Then he stood up without wiping the dirt off his knees and went to work. Their village had contained one hundred and eleven people and before he could eat he would have to bury one hundred and ten of them.

As he dragged the first cadaver along he noticed a rainbow in the distance and he burst out laughing.

---

There were few people in the world Athrun Zala loathed more than his father. Cagalli Yula Athha was one of them.

He stared viciously at the messenger. "You're serious."

Benighted, the man only nodded. "The decision, the Emperor says, is final." Even under the Prince's glare this court functionary maintained his veneer of arrogance. "She will be arriving within the week." Athrun sneered, peeling off a gauntlet and whipping it onto the bed. Were they using Sahaku chargers? The week ended in two days.

"Fine. Get out of here."

With a sniff and a bow the leech was gone. Athrun detached the bulky ornate armor, slipped his scabbard on the table, and flopped onto the bed, muscles sore with an exhaustion so deep it penetrated his marrow. On the floor, masterfully carved body plates lay in a haphazard pile. His heavy armor was steel sandwiched by wood, painted with pitch and glazed over by a smooth resin. Iron blades blunted themselves against its side. Two towns of peasants had worked for months to construct it, and after they had finished they had been killed, to prevent Imperial secrets from being leaked.

His chain mail and the padded vests he wore sandwiching _that _were still on, but since he had become Marshall he was so used to the dragging links that he could sleep in them without discomfort. And, as the elder Zala would say, paranoia was the essence of war.

Athrun groaned and worked out the tightness in his limbs, massaging a cramp in his left calve.

Outside, the rain tapping on their roof had stopped. He peered out of the window and noticed that the blank white shades were down; was too lazy to release them.

He lay back down, closed his eyes.

_Cagalli. Yula. Heaven-damned. Athha. Is Uzumi insane, wasting his leverage on that princess? And to think he's among the wiser governors…_

Bratty, spoiled, tomboyish, arrogant, feckless, and completely ungrateful, the "Sun Princess" was everything Athrun despised. When they were young she would always mess up his finger paintings with her overenthusiastic interjections and while he had been too polite to stop her he was silently displeased. After the war started she had spoken out vocally and fervently against the violence, and his escorts had trembled in staying his hand – Lenore Zala's death had been one of the incidents which sparked the first assault. And the girl had the audacity to shame his mother's death by declaring their justice an unprovoked slaughter! Tired as he was, thoughts of her boiled his blood until he could not fall asleep.

She never thanked her guards for protecting her or her servants for waiting on her. She assumed it was her right – not deference-granted privilege – that allowed her near-absolute power over every commoner she encountered. When last had Cagalli Yula Athha defended "her" people against a Western invasion? For what reason did they worship her?

He snorted. That was right – they were fed Athha-loaded propaganda in grade schools, taught from youth to kowtow to "Amaterasu-sama." She had never earned her wealth or position. The only reason she was still alive was because she was a figurehead to the besieged Border Territories. Had he mentioned that her personality sucked?

And now because of Uzumi-san's naivety and Durandal's scheming he would be saddled with her for the rest of his life. The wedding was in forty days? He had better start preparing a will – she would definitely murder him the first night. And, even if he survived, honor would prevent him from taking any concubines.

He didn't need these thoughts right now. The graduation ceremony was tomorrow and his Company needed a proud Captain to present them with their formal swords and outfits. The battered young men needed some recompense for the sins they had been force-fed.

He had hoped Heaven would forgive him, but apparently that was too much to ask. This last messenger had obviously been an agent of displeasure from above.

---

The streambed was swollen with silt and it heaved against its banks, lapping onto the fingers of a severed hand. Kira bent down and picked up another body, hefted it over his shoulder, and headed for the plot which he had cleared of rubble. The sky was sullen, an untasting gray, and winds strafed through his shirt, the sleeves a billowing abandon.

Kira did not know who had slaughtered the townspeople. In all truth, he did not care. His heart was too spent on grief to hold the seeds of hatred.

One day, perhaps, he would go into the East and find out. He would probably die sixty paces from a fort, an arrow through his throat. The prospect wouldn't have bothered him if he hadn't noticed the flowers still vibrant against the stream banks and thought of Lacus. If he died, who would keep her company? She would be alone again, and there would be no witness for her beauty.

He was too tired to come up with a solution. One hundred and eight corpses buried did that to a body. After these two he would just have to find suitable tombstones for everyone and then he could rest, if hunger did not keep him awake. Or perhaps eat, if exhaustion allowed him to move his limbs. He was running on dregs of adrenaline and sheer willpower – a worrying strength, a calligraphist's strength. Certainly not a soldier's.

He slid the bodies into position and dumped them into the individual graves he had made with a crude spade from the blacksmith's. The smith himself was still recognizable – he had taken three arrows before falling – and Kira had buried him twenty-eight slots over.

He set one into its hole, stared at the face for a moment, then closed its eyes. Picking up his spade, he covered it, turned to its companion.

_Do we bury the dead out of respect, or because they bother us? _

The last corpse had been swallowed by the earth. He trudged away from the gravesite, looking for stones. Halfway across the town a strong wind picked up his collar and he collapsed, the world dimming.

_Sometimes when he slept he would have normal dreams, but they were rare – about once or twice a year. Those meant that Lacus wanted to be alone. He hoped fervently that she would be in a companionable mood, now. _

_She let him in. He touched down on the boundary, iron gratings inches behind him. There were no songs and the blossoms danced sadly in a morose wind. Birds perched on trees and stared balefully at him, accusatory. _

_He wandered wraithlike past the opening in the trees. The sun was hidden behind a screen of clouds. Flower petals lined the walk and he heard a faint stirring of sound, so quiet that it drowned in the swishing of leaves. He realized that, down the pathway, she was singing. _

_He had never heard it before. Her voice was light and childlike, caressing the inside of his soul, yet it carried a resonance so powerful his legs quaked out from under him. He had not lived until he heard the song. _

_He felt that he had not heard the true melody, simply the echo of an echo of it, and so he moved closer, until he could see her tiny figure on the edges of the horizon. The garden was as large as Lacus needed it to be and today she needed her space. _

_But she had allowed him in. Kira, pulled himself up with a branch and mustered all his remaining will. He let himself be carried to her. _

_She was staring at a broken rose in the cup of her hands. Her legs were crossed and the dress was the same but she had let her hair go, so that it waved in the breeze like a standard. Her eyes shined with moisture as she crooned to the petals. _

_He held his breath when he moved and stepped with an assassin's deliberation, desperate not to kill the song. His efforts, though, were in vain. Her ears, trained beyond human perfection, detected him in an instant, and the song stopped. He felt as if he would die, there on his feet. _

_Lacus had always sung because she needed to. When she had held the rose in her hand, though, a song had welled up in her chest by itself and she had not stopped it. Now Kira was here and he looked horribly tired and the pathway retracted until he was inches from her, and she saw that he was dirty and trembling with hands laid open by sharp rocks and suffering deep in his eyes. _

"_Oh, Kira," she whispered, rising to place a hand on his neck. "I'm so sorry." _

_He looked at her, mouth working silently. "Sorry?" _

_Then, his eyes widened, as if he had taken a punch to the gut, and he clutched her savagely, sobbing, and she felt her heart flip over. She wrapped her arms around him and placed her head in the crook of his neck and cried along with him._

_The roses curled upon themselves and withered into the ground. She picked up the song again, and his tears were warm and salty against her neck. _

---

They had packed her into this burlesque cart, pulled by sixteen horses, and hitched a train of maidservants, clothing, and guards to it. It had been raining a while before and all of her entourage had scrambled around like headless chickens, huddling below overhangs and umbrellas as if the sky were falling.

Just to be contrary (and to show her displeasure at this whole arrangement), she had flounced into the open, laughing as the rain slid cold fingers down her back and drenched her sundress. They had had to hold up the convoy for hours to get her changed and Durandal had been very displeased. Behind his back she had blown a raspberry.

Now she was being hauled into the carriage again, and she rolled her eyes as they slammed and bolted the door. As if she would be stupid enough to try to escape from a _moving _carriage.

Well, actually, that had been pretty smart of them. They had closed her window to the driver, as well, so she couldn't force him to stop with a royal command. Her only entertainment for the ride was the window to her side, covered by a yellow-red curtain, and that was too small to squeeze out of. She sighed. Athrun Zala better be grateful – she hadn't even thrown a fit, yet.

The horses started at an easy trot and they clattered over the flagstones, to the cheers (some in earnest) of the assembled courtiers. Cagalli leaned back and grunted. Well, she was glad to be rid of _them_, too.

There was a wonderfully decorated carving opposite her seat. She ran her eyes over the craftsmanship, aware that whichever master had crafted the work had most likely spent hundreds of hours on it unpaid. It was detestable, how the Zala misinformed the populace in order to exploit their work.

The hard clapping of horseshoes against stone had faded away and now they were pacing on hard-packed dirt roads. Most likely they were reaching the Palace Gates, sixty feet high and two meters thick. The huge interlocking plates slid aside with a tortured steel whine to let them through. Now the ground was soggier, and the horses had to strain a bit more. Around, peasants obediently bowed and cheered, zither music and firecrackers ringing through the streets. Her wheels creaked, water filling the joints.

In her lifetime of seclusion Cagalli had developed very good ears. She could tell they were throwing streamers at her by the fluttering noise that paper made as it twirled in the air. In front, the horses slowed to a crawl, displaying the full majesty of Zala to their teeming masses. The people lapped up sight and spectacle like starving dogs did milk.

She closed her eyes and let the slow rhythm of the carriage rock her to sleep. It wasn't as if she were needed for this show.

When her eyes fluttered open they were cantering over rocky ground, the carriage heaving up and down as they struck pebbles and stones. She moaned, stretching her arms; then got up and peered out the window. Desert whished by, a long hard flat expanse of yellow-brown under an empty blue sky.

The Barrier Wastes were a long, narrow strip of desert fronted and flanked by mountain ranges. It served as the border between Zala and Attha territory: Zala armies had had to march through minute passes and withering heat to engage her family's fortresses, nearly a century ago. But though the desert was dry and determined and vicious the Zala were more determined, more vicious, and possibly even drier (The Emperor was not known for his sense of humor).

She had been asleep at least six hours. They had probably changed the horses at least once – even the legendary Sahaku chargers could not go this fast without getting fatigued – and her maidservants were wasting their lives playing card games. She heard their airheaded tittering from behind, accompanied by the clicking of ivory dice and the jeers of guards.

A band of horsemen, their spears vertical and flying the black-white Zala pennant, rode into view. They wore full armor despite the heat and she saw that the horses, too, had plate barding strapped onto their heads and flanks. The Empire wasn't taking any chances with its loot.

_They're probably on rotating patrol. At least six contingents, plus the archers and spearmen in the carriages. Guess they were serious about going into a warzone. _

The massive stallions were blocking her view and she sat back down, huffing. Yawning hugely, she fell back asleep.

A cool green scent wafted in from the window and she started. Outside, gnarled trees, lush grasses, and looming mountain ravines. Already? Cagalli wasn't a lazy girl. How could she have slept so much?

Durandal had probably drugged her after the rain fiasco, just as an extra precaution. She knew she shouldn't have taken the tea her servants offered.

Was she really that bothersome? Cagalli supposed she should be flattered, to command the attentions of the Prime Minister for such a time. She hoped she had given him a migraine, at least. Maybe she _should_ have thrown a fit – then again, she wouldn't have wanted to spend this entire trip unconscious. Fighting back tiredness she peered sleepily out the window, glad the guards were gone.

Then an arrow streaked from the wood and buried itself three inches from the window. She reeled.

They were galloping, the terrain a blur, and behind her she heard the wailing of handmaidens and the excited barking of guards. There was a marching of booted feet and then hoofbeats closing in from both sides. Sneaking a glance, she quickly retreated behind the ledge.

Horsemen rode outside, and they carried no flag and wore silver armor. She heard the clash of steel on steel, the neighing of steeds, hooves dancing around as spears impacted bucklers and swords cut into flesh. A Zala rider, his back to her carriage, fended off two raiders with his spear, but one ducked low and chopped the haft in half and the other came in and slashed. Blood splattered in a crescent on the opposite wall.

She set her jaw, ran to the door, and pulled furiously. The locks, bolted and triple-layered with chain, held easily against her onslaught. She growled and whirled away, hands reeking of iron, and beat on the driver's sealed-in window, raging until her voice was hoarse. There was a cruel, airy laugh from the left, and her curtains were torn away by a white stallion, its rider holding a many-knotted whip.

Then a barrage of arrows shattered against her carriage and there was the pained whinnying of horses and someone shouted "release the birds!" and then the cart tipped over to the side. She was thrown, stomach lurching, into the door.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Please spend the effort to write a couple words of feedback; they really help me write. I can't keep up this speed without inspiration. 

Oh, and a preview of next chapter:

Athrun slid low on the saddle, his blade zinging through a raider's torso. Arrows whipped past his cheeks and one slammed into his shield, but he turned with the impact and thrust deep into another's chest, ripping through the man's solar plexus as his charger turned. He was about to dismount and examine the carriage when he was smashed from the side by heavy knotted whips. Righting himself he charged swordfirst at the jeering mask of Rau le Creusete.


	3. Throw the Wind

Whew. This chapter has been extensively reworked so I didn't include the preview text (from last chapter) in here. Still on the same topic, though. Final version uploaded.

"_How possible is democracy when one man can incinerate villages with his mind?"_

_-Uzumi Nara Attha, private letter to Patrick Zala_

Her great-aunt had died senile, limp, and sodden, like an old rag too stained to clean. She had been ninety-seven: eons in Cagalli terms.

Well, at least this Sun Princess' death would be exciting. She wished, though, it weren't so imminent. Or so obviously painful.

A blade crashed through the carriage's side, huge and silver, sending a spray of wood chips her way. She stifled a scream and pushed herself back, away from the spearhead which worried around the chamber like a hound sniffing for prey. Gritting her teeth and giving the door one final thump, she kicked down hard on the flat of the blade, jarring it from its search.

Promptly it slithered out, to come bursting back in and land juddering inches from her head. She stared at it wide-eyed for a second, then turned and peered through the hole it had created. Pale blue eyes greeted her, narrowed in malice. The man drew a second, shorter sword from his belt, made to throw it at her – and was abruptly whisked away. There was a sound like steel being dragged across an anvil and then several screams.

She loosed a sigh, settled down. It had taken them long enough – the entire train had been slaughtered! Cagalli hadn't cared much for her handmaidens but she had never wished for them to die.

Well, alright, once or twice. But those had never been serious. And the shrieks as they had fallen had been deadly serious.

Bolts thudded against the side of the carriage and she started, jumping to her feet. Western cavalry never used crossbows; they were a signature of the Elite Guard. She hadn't realized that the dread company had situated a base so close…

It was probably one of the training camps they thought she didn't know about. But the only forces stationed at the far Western border belonged to-

Athrun Zala. She slumped against the wall. What great Zala propaganda this would make: the bold and daring heir swooping in to catch her after she had tripped on her own feet! Vaguely she wondered whether Durandal could have orchestrated the whole attack.

An arrow trembled to a stop right next to her hand. Her eyes ran over its black-flecked feathers before she realized what it was, scrambled away as if bitten. _Damn. _Had Durandal's drug slowed her reflexes, too?

Splotches of red were marking the floor. There was no one in the carriage but her. She glanced wonderingly at her hand, saw that it had actually been nicked by the arrow, remembered her first lessons on warfare (before Zala had cancelled them).

The raiding parties of both sides poisoned their arrows, so that even a scratch was lethal.

The world swam around, grew slow and gray as if she were underwater under a white sun. She tried to move: couldn't. The tips of her fingers were numb and cold and she felt a strange, acid chill spread inwards from them, burrowing inexorably to her core. Blackness closed in around the edges of her eyes. There was no way some Western _peasant _poison was going to conquer Cagalli…Yula Attha…

She shook her head: once, twice, willed herself to consciousness. And then the pangs started, like her intestines were contracting, and she fell, grasping for breath with bloodsoaked palms, onto the carpeted floor of the carriage, and she coughed and there was blood, and her sundress was soaked in flooding tides of crimson, spreading across her legs-

"_Well. She's just a spare. But I suppose we could allow her to pass – she may be an interesting diversion, further down the line." _

"Is that wise_? Do I look like a man who relies on wisdom?" _

_A chuckle. _

"_Of course, a confusion of terms. I was being deliberately obtuse; I apologize. Anyway, how is the boy?" _

_She felt mirth, dancing on the edges of her mind, a frenzied rotted joy that spread like a cancer._

"_Excellent. You have done well. And yes, I'm beginning to like the idea of the spare – you know, it will be a great boon to the royal families. They haven't had a blonde in what, seventy generations? They're so short lived when one takes one's attention off them…" _

_And then she felt a cruelty so sharp and bright that it eclipsed her like an exploding star and then, she knew, she was both formed and ceased to exist. It was absolutely the worst feeling she had ever experienced. _

_And it was getting worse. _

"…_I mean, isn't that hilarious? You know last time they were derided for their hair color. Now it reminds them of Sister! Patent absurdity but the irony is so amusing." _

_A gaze, piercing her chest: hard and cool and liquid-evil. The same voice? She couldn't remember. _

"_Yes. I think now is a good time." _

_And then he – it - left and she had had sixteen years of life whishing between like wind on blackened canvas and now this. And somehow she knew he was back, and he was laughing. _

_He, she realized, had always been laughing, and she had mistaken the laughter for words. _

"_Die," he chortled, "you're killing me." _

_Around them, flames rose three meters into the air, swishing her hairs, kissing her with soft stray embers. She was upright and could stand and the poison receded, faded into the background along with her heartbeat. The sickening essence was sluggish, slowing – or was she speeding up and leaving her body behind? At that point she didn't really care. _

_The flames were rising from houses and she could see clouds in the sky mingled with smoke from the fires and men like shadows cutting down their kin. The thunder of their hooves was devoured by the crackling of the flames. In the ghoulish light blood sprayed orange and burned, leaving flecks of iron-tang smoke hanging about her. She coughed, waved them away. _

_He – the Laughing Man – he was furious. But he wasn't furious about the burning or the killing – no, he had laughed at that. But_

_He had stopped laughing and all his power was focused like light through a lens on one – no, two – targets and despite herself her knees nearly gave out in relief that she was not one of them. _

_The flames blazed and danced and she walked into them, anything to escape that lens, the man-who-was-no-longer-laughing. _

_They didn't burn her. _

_In fact, she felt absolutely safe: safer than she had been in the Palace, safer even than when she had still lived at home. The flames ensconced her in a billowing curve of fire and her eyes widened, the man forgotten. _

_What they had said about her was true. It wasn't Attha propaganda or Zala lies. The flame was with her and in her and when she moved her arms it fled as if chastised. And then she made as if to embrace the fire and as she touched its heart she was filled with fury that burned like a pyre. _

_She smiled._

And then she woke up to the tune of poison screaming as it was burned out of her bloodstream, and when she touched the wound on her hand it smoked as if cauterized but there was no pain. She had cleared her head of the poison and had gone to her natural reaction – anger.

"Okay," she breathed, gut filling with a rare hope, "if this doesn't work I'm going to feel very stupid for the next few days."

For some reason she had to strain to say it, and when she did it felt like it had been bellowed out like the screams that Theatre actors made when they played Oiden the Thunder-god. But the word was soft, clipped, composed.

"Amaterasu."

The carriage exploded. A phoenix's cry burned across the sky.

---

_Bad enough that the graduates had to raze Amon Fields a day before; now, on their time of celebration, they're called to _this

Athrun was, uncharacteristically, furious. If the useless, arrogant, and caustic Sun Princess had the incompetence to let herself be captured by _raiders_, he didn't think she deserved a rescue. But then Zala training kicked in and he crushed the thought.

_We must protect everyone, even those not worth protecting. It's what gives them hope in our system. _

Father had said that, and while Athrun didn't think he had been serious, the teenager still took the words to heart. When he was Emperor they would be words to live by. Now, they were words to act by.

He sighed. "Gather the troops."

The messenger dropped smoothly to a knee, nodded. "Yes, milord."

He turned to look at the wall scroll and his scabbard slapped against his side. On the scroll: mountains rising from a void of white, men struggling up the scraggled cliffs, distance anchored by lonesome trees in speckled bloom. To Athrun the mountains had never been of stone. They were too pale.

He felt, when he contemplated that painting, Heaven's weight upon his shoulders, and the shifting of ancestors' bones below.

There was a rustling of beads and the messenger returned from the veil-door. "They are ready, milord."

The Guard was punctual as always. He turned, placed the deadly emerald blade carefully into its sheath. "Tell them to meet me at the stables. Full barding on the horses."

Again, a liquid bow. "Yes, milord."

He heaved a sigh, let go of the fury. A soldier might be able to afford himself anger but a commander was clear-headed or a failure.

Dusty sunlight shafted into the stable between ancient wooden supports. The horses neighed to one another, glancing past the blinders, stomping idly. Their pens reeked with the filth of excrement and Athrun scowled – where were the cleaners? Sahaku chargers were huge beasts, seven feet tall at the shoulder with tremendous endurance and power. Unfortunately, they also produced tremendous amounts of waste.

The rest of the guard tromped in, tired but smug, testing their new swords for weight and heft. He indulged them for a moment, then motioned to the horses. Silently, they complied, saddling their mounts before the wooden gates had had time to creak open. He swung up on his own charger, turned to them.

"You know what's happened. We don't have time to waste. If the Sun Princess is captured then border morale will fall unacceptably low."

They regarded him carefully before affixing their facemasks. Ghoulish smiles greeted him and he _hya'_d the stallion into movement. "Go!"

And, in a pitch ocean of limbs, they thundered off across the green. Athrun blinked the wind out of his eyes and took his horse to a gallop, eyes picking out trails of smoke to the east. Below him, the charger's muscles rippled like the tide, steady and powerful. The _li _were eaten away under their cascading hooves and just before they reached the site Athrun stopped, faced the Company.

"Crossbows out," he commanded, drawing his sword. "Pick off any presenting themselves as targets and make sure to get shots at their horses before you engage."

They nodded, hand crossbows clicking into place, and around them the wind stirred and blew their horses' manes like anemone tendrils into their faces.

"These aren't peasants," Athrun added grimly. "Zala."

"Zala!" The chorus was accompanied by the cocking of bolts.

Outriders seemed to spot them, and Athrun cursed as the raiders broke off their attack, spinning around to face this new threat. They weren't novice enough to turn their backs to an enemy, so the guards accompanying Cagalli's caravan had already been slaughtered. _More sacrifices for the Sun Princess. I suppose it's too much to hope she won't be ungrateful. _

The white-clad raiding party stared for a long moment at the black-on-black Elite Guard before retrieving longbows from behind their saddles. Armored biceps strained as the armored knights reared back, huge black-speckled arrows on bowstrings.

Athrun's eyes widened.

"Charge!" He screamed, bringing his sword down in a chopping motion. The guard broke like a damn upon their enemies, horses snorting in fury as they bore down on waiting arrows. There was a high-pitched whistling of cut air as both sides loosed, bodkin heads sinking deep past armor into flesh. Two Guardsmen leapt off ailing horses, cutting at enemy underbellies, while the raiders crumpled like a crushed glove, four toppling boneless off their mounts.

Athrun snarled as he wheeled about and sliced through one's bowstring, blade zinging as it parted wood, gauntlet, and finger. His enemy howled and drew a shortsword, but Athrun was already past his guard and six inches of green-tinted steel erupted from the back of the white knight's armor, spilling blood in long rivulets. Turning, he based another's nose in with his shield, then pulled his sword out and impaled the rider through his gut.

The raider grunted as if he had been punched, then gagged red before he died. Around, the Elite Guard folded across the battlefield like the ends of a clamp, leaving a wake of bloodied grass and crushed horses. More bolts sang across the air, felling raiders by the score. Athrun scanned the trees, using the moment of respite to search for enemy reinforcements.

The wind was working the trees into frenzy and leaves shivered off the branch. He gnashed his teeth, unable to decide whether any enemies lurked in the growth, and turned back to battle, just in time to deflect an arrow aimed for his heart. He saw a Guardsman whirl and slash a raider off his horse, then bear down on the injured man, cleaving through his wooden shield until it splintered. Gore flew red-green across the grasses, slapping wetly against Athrun's cheek. He rubbed it off on his shoulder, sighted the carriage.

A spearman was mounted next to the cart, his haft fishing inside for a target. Athrun sank low so that he could smell the sweat on his horse's mane and rushed the man, their impact screaming of steel on steel. His opponent started, letting go of the spear, and he swung one arm around, smashing it into the raider's gut. Blood flew from the knight's mouth as Athrun rose, smoothly parting his foe's armor with the sword.

Before he could check on the Sun Princess, however, arrows bounced and scattered off his heavy armor, and he turned swiftly, searching for the snipers. A few errant shots bounced into the carriage.

One of his men gestured to the right, and Athrun nodded, sighting the archer formation. As he rode them down he inhaled heavily, the thunder of war on his ears.

And then, behind him, he heard a roar that shattered the heavens, and it was as if a massive rushing wall had folded around him and was carrying him forward, and his knees buckled as he slammed facefirst into the earth, head ringing, a dull gray pain spreading from between his eyes as redness dripped down his vision.

He was out before the flames began.

---

Kira sighed, brushed itchy strands of hair off his nose, and then he was awake and shuddering. She had, for the first time, given him something. He opened his palm to look at it, smelled the ash grimed into his knuckles.

It wasn't there.

Which meant one of two things. She was lying to him, or she didn't exist. He felt his breath freeze. And then he sat bolt upright, and saw it dangling from his neck. The starlight caught its sides so that it sparkled like a cut gem.

He wrapped his hand around it, let go a sigh.

_She had let him go, and her eyes were liquid and full of stars. He dared to brush a lock off her face and she smiled sadly. _

"_I'm sorry, Kira." _

_Her voice was hiccupped and broken, and when she hitched in the middle of a sob he did too. _

"_I didn't know what they did until now." _

_The agony of her eyes had jolted him from half-death. He didn't know how much longer he could bear her tears. Tentatively he brought her to his chest, shivering as they touched. _

"_Lacus," he whispered, "I don't understand what's wrong." _

_She drew in a slow, shaking breath, then looked at him. "I did it, Kira." _

_Through the tears she still smiled, but it was painful, forced. "I killed your village." _

_He had felt a crushing disbelief, equal parts bewilderment and shock. "What? Lacus, that's not possible. Eastern raiders killed-"_

_Lacus was shaking her head, and she buried her face in the hollow of his neck only to pull away, as if burned. "No, Kira. My songs – that's what they do. I hadn't realized for all this time…" _

_This was too much. "Lacus, you're not-"_

"_Everyone, Kira." He could not meet her eyes; they were like spears jagged in his heart. "I killed everyone. I thought that I sang because they died, to mourn them – it's not true. They die because I sing. Everyone." She looked up to him and tears overflowed her eyes. _

"_What if- someday- you…" Then she clutched him, so hard it almost hurt, and he held her to him and breathed in her satin hair and wondered why he was sent these dreams. _

_After the blossoms had stopped falling, there was a moon in the sky – the first moon he had seen, and it was perfect, crystal-yellow, a scimitar of light. She had stopped, and though her eyes were puffy her beauty had not diminished. _

"_Kira," she whispered, so soft he had to bring his ear to her lips to hear, "I'll make it better for you. My Masters will be unhappy but I can weather it. And maybe after you find me we will be strong enough to be free." _

"_What-" _

"_Shh…" she had placed a finger to his lips. It was cool and soft and smooth. "You must listen. They're always watching me. This way they won't be able to hear. Please, I know this is hard but you must have faith. Do you trust me?"_

_He nodded, almost imperceptibly. _

"_Here." She pressed something into his palm – a cold circle connected to a mass of chain. "Don't look at it. Afterwards they will block you from me, so when you wake up, please remember this." _

"_There is someone you are supposed to meet." Her brow was furrowed, as if she were under great strain. He was about to act when she choked out a name. _

"_Athrun Zala. Find him. I think you were supposed to discover on your own but this way'll be faster." _

"_Wait. What? Why? How do you-"_

_She wrapped soft arms around his neck and looked at him. "Please don't forget," she breathed. He stared intently at her. Was she going to-_

"_Kira, I've wanted to do this for a long time." _

_And then their lips met and he could hear the thrumming of their heartbeat and she was clear and clean and drawing him in so he raised a hand to cup the back of her head and that silken hair_

And she was gone.

He was too tired to grasp the memory any harder. His fingers toyed idly with the ring. Above, the sky was moonless, studded with stars.

I want to thank all my reviewers from previous chapters, especially Maderfole (he's an awesome writer, you should check out his fics), Minerva, lamu, and Jack. I was on vacation but now I'm back - please review to help me keep my inspiration up!

Thanks!

Rihaku


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